


This side of Paradise

by chatonauteur



Category: South Park
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anxiety Attacks, Bipolar Disorder, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Hospitalization, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Rape Recovery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:29:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27696307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chatonauteur/pseuds/chatonauteur
Summary: Kyle thought his life was over. Desperate, his family sends him to a psychiatric unit in the city of South Park, and Kyle realizes that nothing had actually ever started. He will thus witness the beginning of everything, but how will he manage this influx of positive emotions? How to understand what's happening in him and around him?This is the mystery and the key.
Relationships: Kyle Broflovski/Bebe Stevens, Kyle Broflovski/Eric Cartman, Kyle Broflovski/Stan Marsh
Kudos: 17





	1. Welcome to South Park

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Ce côté du Paradis](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23753968) by [chatonauteur](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chatonauteur/pseuds/chatonauteur). 



> Hello fellas ! 
> 
> Ok I want to precise something : I'm French and I don't have a beta reader in my native language so I don't have either in English, I'm sooo sorry for the abundant mistakes you are going to read :( (maybe this sentence is wrong, omg). 
> 
> I hope you will like it, and if an angel want to help me with my grammar... I say yes ! 
> 
> Enjoy your reading !

Kyle never wanted it to end like this, really. He had always been a studious, kind and patient boy. He didn't like to fight, but he had to do it many times, both for himself and his little brother.

Yet everything had started so well. Really.

Kyle had been a wanted child of his parents. Sheira and Gerald Broflovski, two practising Jews, had made several attempts to have children - and suffered two miscarriages - before having their first born: Kyle Broflovski. The pregnancy was closely watched by the obstetricians in their small town. Gerald, despite his job as a lawyer, had done everything possible to be as available to his wife, who had to lie down most of her time. Sheila didn't care that she was bedridden during her pregnancy, what mattered to her was this little being growing inside her.

When Sheila started having a few contractions, the couple still worried about going to the nearest clinic. Even though they knew very well that water had to be lost for childbirth to begin, they could not prevent that voice, a remnant of fatal pregnancies, from whispering threats to them. So on D-Day, when the nurses saw the only Jewish couple in town arriving, they sighed, not content with having to send them home again. Once Mrs. Broflovski's condition was visible, they hurried, regretting the bitter thoughts that had crossed their minds.

The delivery lasted a little over a day. Mr. Broflovski stayed with his wife throughout, supporting her, encouraging her and praising her. It was not until the placenta was ejected, after the baby therefore, that the parents were totally relieved. The sight of their child had been a wonderful shock at first, but they knew a woman who had passed away due to the non-ejection of the placenta, so nothing was done until the placenta came out.

They had already chosen the first name: Kyle. Obviously, the first name had been chosen in the living room, as soon as they knew Sheila was expecting a boy, but the name seemed to suit the little human they held in their arms so well. Their son, Kyle Broflovski.

Kyle grew up with loving parents, respecting the Jewish religion, and in a slightly wealthy environment. They always went on vacation, whether for trips to unfamiliar places or to the parents' family. Sheila had an older brother, Jacob, while Gerald was an only child. Jacob and his partner had a child a few months after Kyle was born. Jacob got along with Kyle so well that he announced at a family meal that the child his wife was carrying would be called Kyle in turn. The whole table was silent, Sheila wanted to yell at her brother but Gerald temporized her by placing his hand on her thigh and in the evening, they chatted in their room. They came to believe that it was a sort of “tribute” to their son, a representation of the strong bond that Jacob and Kyle had been able to forge. It is true that Jacob took care of Kyle a lot to let Sheila and Gerald rest. After all, it was family.

Kyle was very quickly 3 years old, and her son's entry into kindergarten upset Sheila, who couldn't bear to see her son grow up, or else she couldn't bear not taking care of him continuously, she couldn't do the difference. Then comes this idea of a second child, not so absurd but thoughtful. Indeed, they had no financial problems, Mr. Broflovski being a lawyer recognized in the surrounding towns. Then Kyle's room was really big, they could split it up to make two rooms. The decision was quickly made. So they tried for a year, leaving their son to Jacob and his wife for whole weekends sometimes. But nothing came. And so they found out that Sheila was now barren. The obstetrician was talking about secondary infertility, or something. After many nights of crying, they picked up Kyle from Jacob's house (so he wouldn't be impacted by his parents' despair, Sheila had given him to her brother for a few days) with the goal of adopting a child.

It was when Kyle was 6 that they finally adopted a second child. They were finally the perfect family, the one they wanted. Still, if Kyle was happy with the arrival of a little brother, and he was, he was having more and more temper tantrums. Kyle was a previously quiet kid, so his parents felt it was Ike's arrival that bothered him so much. Psychologists explained to them that Kyle was used to having both parents' attention on "demand" and "at will", and that he just didn't like the change. But when Sheila explained that she felt something else, psychologists claimed it would pass with age.

Finally, everything had started well, right? Why did it end like this, then? That was the only question Kyle had.

Ô, he was exhausted. Eyes darkened and heart aching, he left the cabin of the car and walked towards the bridge. Finally, he strolled. To tell the truth, he was no longer really in control of his movements. It was as if another him, a bigger, stronger him, had taken over his body and his actions. Pretty images flashed through his head, reminding him that he had something to stay, that he had to stay. But sensations, hellish flames burned these beautiful memories to replace them with these shameful sensations, these skillful gestures and those forced, these stifled moans.

It was eyes clouded with tears that he fumbled until his hands gripped the railing of the bridge. No, he didn't want to come to that.

“But it's not me!” He yelled at the water in front of him.

Snot trickled from her nose and almost got into her mouth. Normally he would have blown his nose, cursing because it was disgusting, but now he was panting, not really thinking. He felt. Kyle sensed feelings past, present and to come. It was too much. Too much to bear.

Kyle screamed more words, or sentences maybe? Was what he said meant?

A bitter laugh escaped his throat, tearing him apart from the inside. He ran a hand through his red curls, pulled his old jacket tight against him, and the last tears flowed before he jumped up. Maybe he'll finally be calm in the water.

“Hey! We found the car!

\- My son ? Did you find him? ”Sheila yelled through her sobs.

She then abruptly left the arms of her husband, who dropped a crumpled sheet of paper on the floor. Gerald rushed over to his wife, facing the police, as Ike indiscriminately picked up the paper his parents hadn't wanted him to read.

"A colleague of mine claims to have found your car near the bridge at the exit of town."

Sheila was screaming all over the place. She was screaming so much that the police barely heard when their colleagues at the bridge started talking on the radio again. One of the policemen gestured to one of his colleagues to gently push Ms. Broflovski away, so that he could communicate with his colleagues. The young agent then took the radio and heard the words which, he knew, would make the mother scream even louder.

Taking a deep breath, he got out of the car and smiled, meeting Mr. Broflovski's desperate gaze: “They have your son, he is alive”.

Sheila and Gerald had never cried so much. The tears shed for the two miscarriages and the discovery of Sheila's infertility were nothing compared to the endless streams of tears in that white hallway of the hospital. Everything was falling into place in their heads, all the pieces of the puzzle could finally come together. A macabre puzzle took place in their minds, making them cry even more.

Ike was crying too, but softly, almost carefully. In his pocket was this crumpled sheet, where the handwriting was coarse, unusual from his brother's fine and intricate handwriting, where tears had thinned the paper in places. Ike was hacked off. Ike wanted to harm, very badly. He then stood up, sniffing in his sleeve, and walked over to the vending machine in another hallway. He couldn't hear his parents' tears anymore. He wanted to act. But it was in this other hallway, isolated from those closest to him, that his body relaxed and a flood of tears tilted his head forward.

It was an unbearable pain. How could he have seen nothing? He was very close to his big brother, how is that possible? During these moments, Ike hated himself. He cursed himself for not being able to take care of his brother as he had taken care of him for years.

The hospital staff walked past him but didn't stop, some people slowed down and attempted an approach with eye contact first, but Ike didn't want anyone's compassion.

He cried on his own for about five minutes before returning to his parents, who were still crying and chatting too fast for Ike to understand.

“You're going to do something, huh?” Ike asked, handing the crumpled letter to his parents, his eyes filled with sadness and rage.

\- Ike, that's comp-

\- I'm going to kill him ! Damn it! ”Sheila yelled faster and louder than her husband.

It was there that she emerged from her sad torpor and stood up. Gerald looked at her with dark eyes. Ike knew that his father wanted to hurt Jacob just as much as his mother did, and that his wife's thought had just started a vengeance.

Kyle didn't know if he was dead or alive. The light was strong, unpleasant. He tried to open his eyes but the eyelids were stuck together. Her ears were buzzing and her body seemed to be made of concrete. He was cold. He smelled a rather familiar scent, of cleaning products and vinegar, like when his mother was cleaning. So the smell of death was that of the household? Dubitative, Kyle retried to open his eyes. His vision was very blurry from the bright light, but he thought he saw slabs? With neon lights? Desperate, he closed his eyes and swore from the bottom of his being. Why was he still alive? Why ? He didn't want to see the family destroyed because of him ...

And it was on these thoughts that he fell asleep again, a dry tear on his right cheek.

"You'll see, beeboo, you'll like it here!"

His mother's intonation was far too joyous to be sincere. Ike and his father pretended to be comfortable, but he sensed their distress, and Kyle hated himself for making them feel so sad, worried. He had never wanted to hurt his family but he wanted - finally, he had wanted because if he said what he still wanted it would be worse - to end it, just be quiet, no longer think and think . To no longer feel. The feelings were horrible; violent slaps, that was what they were.

Kyle wanted to respond to his mother, he wanted to tell her he believed her - even if it was wrong, of course - he wanted to reassure his family, but only a sound that seemed to be approving came from his pursed lips. He watched the landscape go by to the hospital where he will be hospitalized.

Being hospitalized at his age? Kyle saw this act as an attempt to kill him more while he was alive. To make him a zombie. He was going to be surrounded by crazy people, how could he come out with a better mental state? It was a fucking shit slap of life again. As if he hadn't eaten enough, hey.

Slowly, he stroked the scars on his forearms. Maybe it had been too much? Or maybe he should have tried harder?

Kyle sighed and rolled down his long sleeves. It was there that he saw his little brother's big brown eyes on him. Tears came to his eyes and he looked away. Kyle never thought that while he was alive his family would’ve known his secret. Because he couldn't meet their stares. It was too hard. He stared at the snow outside, it covered all the paths and sidewalks. Some people had gone out to clear their driveway, but most did not seem bothered by the snow. Kyle wished he had been frozen, frozen to death, so he wouldn't have felt his brother's hand on his. He wouldn't have felt his sadness and his love. He couldn't take it anymore. To please his brother, he took his hand, he didn't want to traumatize him any more, but deep inside he would have rejected this too hot hand and yelled at his family. Why yell at his family? What would that have brought him besides guilt?

He really didn't want to go to the clinic. He wanted to cry, to scream, but all these sounds echoed in his head, not crossing the imaginary into the real. And that was also one of the things that scared Kyle: what if he totally let himself go, over there? What if he became what he imagined? What he didn't want to be? Or what couldn't he be? Currently, he was not making a difference.

The car drove past the city sign where the hospital or clinic was located, whatever. And never before had he wanted to destroy so strong a wooden sign.

_ Welcome to  _

_ South Park _

  
  



	2. The arrival

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello ! Happy New Year (or good luck, for short) !  
> Sorry for the long delay, I also need to focus on my studies and I wanted to spend time with my family :) 
> 
> Hope there won't be too many mistakes and that you'll like it!

The clinic was very large, the many wings were indicated by old wooden panels where the paint was already badly damaged by the temperatures in the area.

Kyle stayed by the car as his parents walked into the Reception area to be pointed to the correct wing. Ike stayed by his side, of course. The redhead couldn't bring himself to look at his brother, who he knew was staring at him. He was only 13 years old, why was he so mature? Maybe if he had been less precocious he wouldn't have understood? Wouldn't he care so much? He was the little brother, after all, he didn't have to take care of his big brother.

He felt his brother's piercing gaze and pulled out his box of cigarettes. He only had one, the one he kept with him, because his mother had searched his luggage before leaving. “Just to see if you haven't forgotten anything”, but of course.

Kyle lit the cigarette, not caring that his parents caught him. After all, he was already going to jail, it couldn't be worse. He tried to control his tremors, but apparently he was having a hard time controlling his body: he was shaking like a leaf in the wind and he felt tears rise to his eyes.

“Fuck it,” he whispered before taking in his first breath.

"Stop looking at me, please," Kyle asked quietly, almost as if begging his brother.

\- Nah, never. I love you."

Kyle's stomach twisted as he slowly turned his head towards his brother. Ike found frightened, shocked eyes behind the long curls. The youngest could detect in the astonished eyes of his brother an outburst of emotions, of thoughts too. So Ike continued:

“You are the strongest person I know. Maybe we didn't make the right choices sometimes, maybe we were blind, but you're still the bravest person I know. "

His older brother's eyes were now wet. Ike then finished:

"I am very proud of you. You know, I blame myself a lot for not seeing ... or so for not understanding signs ... But you remain my example, I want to be as strong as you later. "

Kyle threw himself into his little brother's arms, dropping his butt on the tar. Ike was surprised, he didn't expect his brother to make any physical contact. Since the incident ... since the day the veil was lifted, Kyle had stopped all physical contact, both with his brother and father, but also with his mother. He had explained that the contact was too hard to endure now. Even though the Broflovsky didn't understand - how can you understand exactly what you haven't experienced? - they accepted. Who could understand this kind of situation except professionals?

“You'll see, here people will understand you”

Kyle was crying hot tears on his brother's slender shoulders as their parents walked out of the Reception area. They made no remark, not wanting to irritate or upset their son. They just smile, seeing their boys parting ways and wiping their eyes.

If any parents would not approve of their sons' sensitivity, which some deemed "too feminine", Sheila was proud of it. She was proud to have children who listened to others. Men who anyone can count on. At first glance, Gerald’s family did not see this emotional upbringing well, but their criticism was somewhat lessened when they saw the boys playing in mud or even basketball. They feared that they would “become queers”. Sheila had never found people close to her so closed-minded, and, let's face it, stupid.

They then unloaded the suitcase and the few extra things Kyle had put in tote bags and walked towards the psychiatric clinic. It was behind the main hospital building but did not have a parking lot, the access being strictly pedestrian.

It wasn't a big clinic. At least that was what the psychiatrist had said once she had found a room - and it was, the building was not very big. She said there were a lot of activities going on, that Kyle would make friends quickly, that there were often people his age. If his parents were only half happy with this news - who really wants his son to be friends with kids in psychiatry? -, she hadn't touched a Kyle squawk. To make friends ? It was the last of his desires. The psychiatrist had added that Kyle would be in a double room. This news impacted Kyle, however. He didn't want to share his privacy with a boy he didn't know, so not at all. He had actually spat it out in a treacherous tone. His parents weren't too thrilled either, their son had, after all, some privacy issues, a shared bedroom wasn't ideal for refocusing on his body.

The psychiatrist, unimpressed by these dramatic parents, assured that Kyle would be well surrounded. Kyle couldn't stand her. He didn't find her competent. She was old school - considering her age - and just nodded at autobiographical accounts and sometimes, let's be honest, morbid. She smelled strongly of perfume, a scent he could swear he smelled once he visited his grandfather at their hometown nursing home. Her very fine hair was still pulled back into a hideous short ponytail, drawing out her fine wrinkles and emphasizing her beaked nose. Her eyelids drooped, as if they had been tired of hearing the stories of locals for years. There were few psychiatrists at home, it had to be regularly called upon, since it was cheaper than the surrounding average.

The Broflovsky family walked in silence to the front door of the psychiatric ward. It wasn't a large bay window like in the main building but a small glass door, like a back door, against a wall and surrounded by plants. They also had a little trouble finding it because it was not easy to notice, without a sign, increasing the already palpable anguish of the young man.

Ike stayed close to his brother and took his hand once they entered the building, once the old smokers sat on the porch behind them. Slowly, putting his bag on the linoleum floor, his father whispered in his ear not to smoke with these people (he knew his son will find cigarettes somewhere, may as well be  thoughtful)  and not to get too close to them. Sure, they looked hurt, Kyle wouldn't have wanted to argue with these people, but his father's remark was predictable and unpleasant. Kyle could make his own choices.

The walls were white and the floor gray. Empty and large. Kyle felt like he could feel his heart pounding all over his body. He wanted to run away. Go back under his duvet. He squeezed his little brother's hand as his parents walked over to the psychiatric wing reception. The two brothers didn't move forward immediately, Ike waited for his brother to take a deep breath before leading him to their parents. Kyle felt like his parents wanted to get rid of him, that they wanted to make the arrangements to get home as soon as possible. Nauseas. He could feel the bitterness of stomach bile in his mouth.

"Of course ! Take the elevator, it's on the third floor! " the receptionist announced with a smile. They then headed for the elevator, just behind the reception. Kyle wanted to scream, cry, but not let go of his brother's little hand. He was scared, and Ike felt his brother's pulse in the palm of his hand, so he squeezed tighter. The elevator door opened, they had arrived way too quickly.

Sheila had red eyes, on the verge of tears, when she rang on the door a few feet away. She kissed her taller son on the cheek, who didn't mind, on the contrary, he wanted to blend into his mother's thick and warm arms. There, he wanted her to embrace him, to protect him, even if it would have cost him an impossible effort.

A nurse opened it almost a second later. She was an elegant woman, but Kyle wanted to stick his fist in her face.

"We are the Broflovski family," Gerald informed, slipping his arm around Kyle's shoulders, making his son jump in amazement (in the end, he might not be ready for the contact).

\- Ah, Kyle Broflovski! Resumed the young woman. Let me introduce myself: my name is Sally. I will put you in your room, Mr Broflovski ”.

It was then with his shuffling feet that Kyle stepped through the door that would cut him off from his freedom for some time now.

The heavy door closed behind him and he followed, along with his family, the nurse, who hopped to his new room. Kyle was staring at the ground, he didn't want to meet anyone's gaze, he didn't want to familiarize himself with the place, he didn't want to stay here. He heard in the background the sound of a TV report and closer to him the sound of slippers being rubbed on the ground. The nurse stopped in front of a door, like all the others, and Ike squeezed her hand for half a second. I'm here.

“You will have room 310! Close to the TV room and the small living room! ”Sally declared in a much too high-pitched and playful voice.

She opened the door, and the room was not a big surprise, nor a big disappointment. His parents began to inspect the room on his side, not going beyond the screen cutting the room, separating his bed on the door side from the second, on the window side. The single bed was dressed to the nines with a thin sheet and an old plaid with a somewhat irritating texture as its simple cover. Fortunately, Kyle had thought of taking a plaid.

The bathroom was large. As soon as we opened the door we found ourselves facing the two basins, where some toiletries had been arranged around the basin on the left. The shower was not separate; right next to the toilet was a slight recess where was a shower like those found in gyms. Completely open, with no curtains so that the water didn't squirt all over the place, Kyle knew he was going to have to wet a good part of the powder room during his showers. The water left was warm or cold and it would have been like when he went to sports at school - with the one exception that he only went to the showers once and because we had to.

The nurse chatted vaguely with her parents as she watched Kyle's things intently, searching for every glass vial, magazines deemed too long, and razors. Gerald was filling out a paper, the admission sheet, and Sheila looked vague, not really noticing the nurse. She stuck her head in the hallway, trying to gauge on a pseudo-scale from normality to insanity the individuals in this unit. Kyle stood on the doorstep of his new powder room, watching the nurse's intrusion into his privacy. He fell back on telling her to take the laces off his sneakers; he should not be labeled as disruptive. If he wanted to get out quickly, he was going to have to remain a model patient.

From behind, Ike hugged him tight, pressing his face to Kyle's back. Kyle froze and sighed, trying to calm his anguish. He wanted to cry. He then closed the door and turned, now facing his brother.

His brother's eyes were gleaming in the dim light in the bathroom. Ike wasn't very old but he understood quickly, he was a smart kid. Kyle sighed, sad that he couldn't spend intimate moments with his brother anymore. They loved playing video games together, although Ike now spent less time gaming than hanging out on YouTube with his friends. Kyle had watched cartoons for a long time that were far too childish for his age just to be with his brother and also to be able to chat with him. He remembers, a few years ago now, but the memory is still vivid of when they rearranged Ike's room for an entire weekend to play pirates. They'd cut swords out of cardboard, stole dubiously-cut hats from a joke shop in their small town. The seller being an old loser, it was very easy to steal objects by hiding them in a backpack.

“We'll talk to each other via messages, Ike, it's going to be fine.

\- I'm not afraid this will turn out badly, Ike replied, wiping his big black eyes, but I will miss you so much ... "

Kyle hugged his brother and cried silently as well. He felt Ike melt into his arms, and although Kyle was a little stiff, he found it nice to hold his little brother against him.

The door swung open to her parents and the two brothers wiped their eyes. Really, they weren't ready to leave them both for very long. Kyle loved his parents very much but found them intrusive, especially his mother. Always watching what her sons are doing, watching if what they were watching wasn't too violent or vulgar, if video games were really their age ... The scene she did on the weekend of the piracy-themed layout was memorable. She had yelled at them to put everything away, and she had even threatened to make them return the hats to the old man in the shop, since she knew they had no spending money - at that moment, they had spent their pocket money for the week in arcade games.

However, the farewells were the most touching the Broflovsky family had ever seen.

The first night was very hard for Kyle who hardly slept. He had a roommate he didn't see all night. Kyle suggested he had entered the bedroom while he was sleeping because he could hear him snore softly after a while.

The evening meal in the refectory had been painful, too. There were a lot of old people on the ward. They were totally losing their minds and Kyle wondered why they weren't just in a Nursing home; he understood why later that night, when about three old people had nocturnal seizures, scaring him and preventing him from sleeping for several hours after the seizures were over.

During this meal he had been able to spot a few people who seemed to be his age: a boy with black hair, a blonde, an overweight boy, a blonde girl and another with red hair. There were several people who looked to be forty-fifty as well. Everyone was talking to each other, except for the elderly, who looked at their plates as if they were empty.

"Luckily my mom brings me a bite to eat, the overweight boy muttered loudly, glancing sideways at the cook who didn't seem at all impressed by the boy's behavior. Because it's disgusting.

\- It might help you reach a normal weight though, the blond boy replied simply.

\- You say that because you're too poor to buy yourself food, Kenny. "

That's when Kyle returned to his room, but he still heard the other respond with a flat insult in the hallway.

The shower was annoying. Definitely, this handshower was really identical to those in the gym. Getting under the spray first, Kyle screamed in amazement as the freezing water touched his pale skin. He jumped back and waited for the water to stop before sliding against the right wall, a place where the water was less flowing - and yes, the toilet was soaking wet from the spray. He pressed the button that served as a thermostat - and it was on maximum. He jumped back again and received a few cold water droplets on his calves. He repeated this operation again and the water was hot from the fourth stroke.

If Kyle still hadn't met his roommate, and it was obvious he would be a man, he just hoped he would be one of the three young men he had seen in the dining hall, even though the bigger looked terrible.

He was awakened from his short night at a little later than 8:00 am by a brief but loud banging on the door, followed by a yell, “Time for treatment!”

Startled, Kyle jumped out of bed and faced the nurses who slammed the door open, all smiles. My God, was every morning going to be like this? Sadly, he could interpret his roommate's bestial growl as an indicator of a response.

“Do you need Movicol, Mr. Brovlovski, a nurse asked, handing him his antidepressant.

\- What for ? Kyle asked with a voice from beyond the grave (that's right, he had a terrible voice in the morning), deciding that he wasn't going to take the nurse back on his last name just yet.

\- The constipation. Are you constipated?

\- Hmm, I don’t know."

And frankly he really didn't know it, he had arrived yesterday after all.

“We'll wait three days then,” the second nurse announced, handing him a plastic cup filled with water.

Kyle then swallowed his antidepressant and pulled back, letting his roommate pass.

He was the biggest of the three youngsters. Kyle relativized and figured that at least he wasn't with an old man.

“Your antidepressant, Mr. Cartman,” the younger nurse announced, handing her her capsule and a plastic cup.

Said Cartman did not answer and swallowed his capsule while returning to his bed, behind the screen that separated them.

Later that morning, after breakfast and before dinner was served, he met the psychiatric intern who would take care of him. She was a young woman Kyle would have described as very charming. She was much shorter than him - about thirty centimeters - and her brown hair fell over her frail shoulders. In her white blouse that seemed tiny and yet too big for her, she seemed to float on the ground, her body feeling as light as that of a feather.

"Hello Mr. Broflovski, my name is Nelly Kure, I will be the intern who will take care of you during your stay," she announced, taking a seat in the chair in front of her bed.

Kyle noted that she had not misspelled his last name and that pleased him. He didn't know if he would remember her last name - the first name being almost useless since he had noticed that everyone was called by last names, at least between doctors and patients, with nurses being called "Mrs." (he only saw women) for short - but he would try. In any case, the tiny label she wore on her small chest wouldn't be much help: the inscriptions were so tiny that he would have had to look at this label for an indecent number of seconds to decipher it. 

Before Kyle could respond Cartman rushed out of the room, slamming the door slightly, but Kyle knew it was a slam of inattention and haste. Relieved that his roommate was no longer nearby, he tried himself on the bed and greeted the young woman back. 

"So, Mr. Broflovski, how do you feel? How was your arrival?" 

Kyle knew these were generic questions, but he seemed to see a real interest in the young woman's eyes. 

"Good, I presume? I don't know... it's new."

Ms. Kure let out a small laugh and crossed her legs, making herself more comfortable. Then Kyle sat down cross-legged on his bed with his sheets pulled tight. 

"So this is your first hospitalization. Am I right? 

\- Yes, ma'am. 

\- Do you know why you're here?"

Of course this question was coming and even though Kyle had prepared himself to answer it, the answer was still unbearable, reviving images, sensations that he wished he had never felt again. 

"Yes, ma'am."

Please, don't let her ask him why exactly... 

"What situation, then?"

Damn it. Kyle looked away and stared at an imaginary dot on the floor while Mrs. Kure continued to stare at him with her big blue eyes. It was certain that he would have to tell his story, but it was painful.

"Suicide attempts," he repeated mechanically. That word had been used by the medical staff and his psychiatrist, so it must have been the right one, even if he didn't feel that way. 

Ms. Kure noted this detail in her notebook, and also that he had been referred by his psychiatrist. 

"How many attempts did you make?

\- Two," he murmured.

\- How do you feel today? 

\- Bad, not in my place, to be honest. 

\- It will pass, don't worry. Have you been able to talk to your roommate? 

\- No, I saw him for the first time this morning. 

\- It's going to come," she said with a smile. “What about your suicidal thoughts, do you have any today, for example?"

Kyle took some precautions before saying what he was really thinking: he turned his tongue in his mouth (not literally, of course, but he thinks a lot) but the sentence came out anyway, after all there couldn't be a worse place than where he was already:

"Just that I shouldn't have missed."

If Kyle was expecting a reproving look or a remark, nothing came, just tiny doodles on a little blue notebook. 

"Was the separation from your family not too painful? 

\- Well my mother, she found it very hard to accept that I had to be hospitalized even though she was the one who had asked the doctors for it... and I'm very close to my little brother, it's going to make me feel weird not seeing him anymore...".

Mrs. Kure noticed the absence of the young man's gaze and decided that she would come back tomorrow. As she got up, she added before saying goodbye: 

"You won't have atelier this week because Mr. Tucker is sick. Besides, there are some people you can make friends with here, I'm sure. If you don't want to go out today, that's absolutely not a problem, but don't stay alone with yourself."

And Kyle soon realized that she was right. 

He spent the first day alone with himself, even skipping all meals - except breakfast, of course, which was served in his room. He didn't see his roommate all day and thanked God for that. 

It was a very long day. He received several calls: first from his brother, who warned him that his mother would be calling him soon; then by following up on his mother's long-awaited phone call. 

He bent over to his cell phone until the battery ran out. His mother asked him questions for hours, urging him to go out and see people "not too mad, eh", half questioning the doctors he had seen before, not because she thought they were incompetent, but because "nobody knows you like I know you, my treasure". During the whole interrogation, Kyle pretended that everything was going well, that he had even had a quick chat with his roommate (his mother again made it clear that he shouldn't get too friendly with people in the unit even if he had to socialize, and Kyle understood the message very well), that he was feeling good. He was even going to have activities starting next week, with the occupational therapist out of town this week-and he wasn't excited about yoga. 

Kyle had always downplayed his problems for his mother. She was too impulsive and much more dangerous than her father, which meant that for her, everything could get out of hand. He recalls that she had already been in contact with a number of associations in the region for various reasons and even her father, a lawyer by profession, found her scene inappropriate. 

This was, more or less, one of the reasons that kept him quiet for years, but the biggest reason was fear. He will talk to Ms. Kure about it. 

The next morning, Cartman was in the shower and Kyle was having a hard time talking to his intern. The intern noticed him and suggested that he go outside to the smoking area. Kyle readily agreed, wishing for privacy to give himself away.

Since the unit was on the third floor, a large terrace was provided for smokers, right next to the dining room and small lounge. They walked across the large empty corridor except for some old, moaning old men. The small lounge counted on the blonde girl reading a book with her feet on one of the three plastic tables set up in the narrow room. She glanced at Kyle, and when their eyes met, her closed and somewhat petrified face turned into the cutest face Kyle had seen in years. He smiled back his big smile with a slight shrug before walking through the patio door. 

Outside there was a young man bundled up in an orange parka, smoking a roll-up, leaning against the wall of the terrace. He appeared to be over twenty years old and his features looked tired even though peaceful.

"Excuse us, could you leave us please? I don't have the keys to the activity room, ”the intern asked politely, keeping the handle of the patio door in the palm of his small hand.

The man looked at them directly this time and smiled at them. He was missing a tooth on his left side and he had scars on his face. Kyle swallowed hard, in surprise he thought, but he wasn't sure.

"Of course, ma'am."

He pulled a hard blow on his nearly finished roll and tossed it with ease in the large stone ashtray before stepping out the door held by the intern. Kyle followed him out of the corner of his eye, sitting himself opposite Madam Kure on a plastic chair : the man had sat down on the table where the young woman's feet resided and they began to chat.

"So Kyle, why haven't you talked for years ?, the intern asked, trying to get herself comfortable into that miserable plastic chair.

"I was scared, I was scared of everything," he said, sinking back in his chair.

\- What is it all?

\- From him, above all, but also from my family. What if they didn’t believe me? Worse, what if they didn't care?

\- Do you really think your parents could have disowned your statements ?, she asked, noting.

\- I don't know and I was too scared. "

The intern lifted her chin from her notes as Kyle let his gaze survey the terrace.

It was impossible to jump from the terrace, some sort of concrete blinds blocked the view and human bodies. The sun wasn't that side in the morning, and Kyle wished he had the sun's rays warming his face.

“And I knew they would look at me differently. And I was right, he announced, lowering his head.

\- You think that's exactly why they look at you differently?”, she asked, putting her little closed notebook on her thighs.

“I ... I don't really know ... I feel like I'm dirty, that they see it, that they see me as someone else ... "

The redhead's worried gaze was drawn to the one of the intern. Kyle knew that his gaze was expressive, that it reflected his deep despair, his pain. He hated being so readable, maybe the intern couldn't read his gaze, but he knew his brother and mother read his gaze like an open book. And he desperately wanted the intern to read his gaze, the latter often speaking more than Kyle's mouth.

“You are not dirty, Mr. Broflovski,” she said, straightening up, “but you have been soiled. They may look at you differently because they see in you the world in a different dimension, but don't you think that's the shock?

\- Certainly.

\- Do you feel tired? Bored ? Lethargic ?, she asked, opening her notebook.

\- Yes, for years, although I don't really know when it started. Otherwise I wouldn't have tried to shoot myself. "

Kyle put his hands over his mouth, shocked at his own sentence. It was a thought, why had it come out ?

“I'm so sorry !,” he said between his fingers still on his lips, visibly distressed.

\- It's not a problem, laughs the intern, sincerity is important between us."

Kyle didn't answer but nodded. The intern didn't continue the exchange, greeting Kyle very politely, who didn't answer, his gaze vague and his thoughts tormenting him.

It was a long day. So as not to arouse suspicion, Kyle forced himself to eat lunch and dinner in the small cafeteria. There he found his roommate and this man in the orange anorak, he seemed to be the oldest of the bunch. He had dirty blonde hair, almost yellow, which hid his ears. He had recognized Kyle and had given him a smile at the table. Of course Kyle was not insensitive to this friendly gesture and responded with a shy smile. He had beautiful almond-shaped blue eyes that froze the young redhead for a millisecond. Even from afar he could detect this beauty and this grain of malice in those eyes so alive.

Definitely. Kyle returned to his plate. He was sitting nearby the door, just to leave as quickly as possible without being noticed and he was also close to the morning’s girl, the blonde who was reading. At dinner she seemed much livelier than at noon. She was talking to the girl with the red hair that fell in front of her eyes. The redhead was very calm but involved in her friend's speech.

"A man, you know Red, you can hold it either by the belly or by the balls!"

Kyle nearly choked on his food, as did the girl the blonde was chatting with. The only difference was that the so-called Red laughed aloud. People around the women laughed, breaking into their conversation.

“So why? Asked a woman with small glasses that didn't show off her face.

\- Balls already have two meanings - a few men listened discreetly and the nurses huffed and munched on bread - you see : balls are discipline and fuck. If you don't know how to cook you can still fuck like a goddess or be strict. And it's a triangle. Knowing this will keep a man.

\- How does knowing that help?

\- Well you can correct your mistakes! Like you don't know how to cook or fuck but you are kind: he will cheat on you and you will be unhappy. Be a bitch. ”

The blonde laughed and ate a good bite of tomato polenta before laughing louder.

“But what do you know? What are you, 18 ?, asked the woman with the small glasses, visibly irritated by the little blonde's behavior.

\- Already, I'm not even 18, but they call me homewrecker in the ‘mafia’, Miss Uptight."

The bespectacled woman started to respond but a woman nearby whispered something in her ear that calmed her down. The young blonde sensed this change of mood in her interlocutor and frowned, worried about what the other woman had said about her to calm the lady with the glasses and even soften her face. Baffled, when the lady with the glasses turned away from her, the young woman shrugged her shoulders and returned to her tasteless dish. Kyle discreetly looked up at the blond and his neighbor's group and sighed too. The next day he will try to talk to them.

Quietly, he stood up and used a moment of inadvertence from the nurses to leave the dining room and return to his room. Slowly closing the door to the room, he met the gaze of the young blonde who smiled at him as she slid his tray under hers. Kyle understood that tonight, without having done anything, he had made an ally.

All evening he carefully avoided any calls from his mother. He texted her around 8 p.m., stating that he had had a good day and was going to bed. She demanded that they call each other the next morning. As if he had a choice.

The shower did him the greatest good, his thoughts were spinning in all directions. Vigorously, Kyle rubbed every inch of his body, until his skin was a bright red. He could see the guy's soft blue eyes again, the blonde's mischievous hazel eyes, the stocky body of his roommate, Red's long red hair ... Everything flashed through his head: the eyes, the nurses' whispers, the smells mixed in the small cafeteria, the moans of the elderly who struggled to stay at the table ...

His eyes misted up as his breathing slowly picked up. He rubbed faster and harder. There was too much stimulation, it was scary. Kyle started to cry when a pair of hands added to his daydreams. Strong hands. Directs, efficients. Kyle crouched down on the bathroom floor and started to cry. Mechanically he pressed the thermostat in order to continue having hot water that enveloped him, like a blanket, which diluted his tears.

So it was that, on the second night of his hospitalization, Kyle Broflovski had to face a panic attack.

The night was as bad as the day, nightmares haunting his nights for years. He was trying to put things into perspective by telling himself he had slept, but sleep may not be restorative. It was as if, as soon as he slipped into Morpheus's arms, he relived over and over again what he wanted to forget, what he wanted to bury. He knew that here he would have to tell everything, bring out the little secrets he had never told anyone about, and that for help, but what was spreading shit therapeutic in? Shouldn't it just be thrown in the garbage?

He had woken up several times with a jolt, sweating. Since he could hear his neighbor growl or move every time he woke up, Kyle deduced that his neighbor was kept awake because of him. And if Kyle wanted to apologize, he also wanted to ask him his name, to chat. He was scared, it was as if his nightmares were real and he was reliving in numbers impossible to count his traumatic experiences.

On one of his nightmare awakenings, Kyle feverishly sat up on his bed, the lying position not helping him to calm his increasingly rapid breathing. He was trying to stop breathing so he could swallow more air : bad idea, his breathing was starting again. What if he was breathing through his nose? It didn't change anything. Tears began to flow as the chimeras surrounded him again and he ran into the bathroom, collapsing behind the door he couldn't lock.

Kyle was cursing himself, he must have woken up - if he was sleeping - his roommate. What if he gets angry? He was certainly shorter than Kyle but he was large and Kyle currently did not have the strength to fight back or even resist. Or if he was going to tell the nurses on duty? They would give him painkillers, but Kyle didn't like painkillers, he hated feeling numb with medication. His maternal grandmother had been depressed and on antidepressants and bendiazepines for years, and her sluggishness and withdrawal into herself had not set a good example of psychiatric treatment. When he was prescribed the medication it had taken him several days to stop keeping it in a little box, "just in case" - and especially because Ike had made him swear, that little prick.

His breathing was burning more and more in his lungs and Kyle was panicking, because it was unthinkable for him to leave the bathroom to look for his plastic bag in his belongings -he hated the technique of the plastic bag but when the crisis was also powerful there was only that that could work. But going out and facing the hound was impossible. He looked like hell, to never smile, or to do nothing but only sadistic smiles.

Kyle struggled to hear in the midst of his crying and hyperventilation, but the knocking on the door became more and more insistent.

“Do you need anything?” Kyle heard, which made him jump.

He was terrified. He couldn't ask this stranger to help him but he couldn't get out either... 

It wasn't Kyle's type, so fiery and rebellious. He also took the time to think things through, he wasn't very impulsive but if situations required impulsiveness he knew how to deploy it abundantly. He was not the brawler type, to respond very quickly to assaults, but if necessary he did - and he had had many, especially because of his hair color and the religion of his parents. - but on trying - at least he was trying not to overreact or in a way that caused him problems. He didn't want to look like his mother.

Yet in a panic attack (that's what the psychiatrist called his seizures) he was paralyzed, on the lookout for any sudden or unexpected noise, too abrupt gestures. It wasn't him and he hated himself for being like that. It was exhausting.

“Damn, do you want something or not? A bag ?"

The voice was deep, like his father's. Kyle tried to breathe out a lot of air but it was impossible, and answering his neighbor was very harsh : his voice got stuck in his throat and came out with a little plaintive squeal. Ô, that he wanted to die on the spot.

“Fuck,” his neighbor's voice muttered.

Kyle heard a moan and a clattering noise of clothes : he must be gone.

No, really ? He wants to help you but you are unable to answer him! You shit! This is the real Kyle : a scared, unstable ball. A fucking kid.

Kyle cried harder and buried his face in his knees, unable to have a single positive thought. He almost wanted to pick up his phone and call his father to talk to him, or for his neighbor to come back. The men's voices could have two effects on him, but tonight it was only positive, he had felt it when his spine rose gently when his neighbor had spoken to him. Of the month, when he could finally hear her in the midst of her sobs.

Suddenly the door opened a little, pushing Kyle forward who stifled a scream in his hands, and a freezer bag floated up to him. When Kyle picked up the freezer bag, the door closed.

Kyle didn't have a freezer bag, just a medicine bag over his things in the closet. His neighbor then gave him his own bag ... so was he hyperventilating too?

He put the bag directly in front of his mouth and breathed into it, as he had learned with his family. Oh how horrible it had been, especially humiliating. Before, all his panicking acts were more or less controlled: he cried silently for hours, banged his head moving back and forth on a wall ... Nothing very extravagant in itself. But since “the incident,” his panic attacks had almost become extraordinary.

Kyle found his breathing calmed very quickly from the effect of the bag, he relaxed too, sliding on the slightly damp floor of his powder room. His sanity came back to him and he wondered what time it was. And had his neighbor gone back to bed? Kyle breathed beyond reason in the bag, waiting for his mind, in addition to his breathing, to calm down from the inhaled CO2.

When the red-headed man was lying all the way down on the wet pavement, his eyelids fluttering and the bag lying close to his head, a deep voice echoed behind the door. 

"Are you alright ?"

Kyle moaned, his eyes now closed. He didn't want to go out and face his neighbor's large body. Not tonight. He was tired, he could sleep well on the floor, it wasn't that uncomfortable after all. Kyle remembers sleeping on the tiles or hardwood floors at drunken nights, even on tar when he was really drunk. The alcohol-blurred memory won him a slight grin, and his neighbor's voice rang out again:

"You're not going to stay here, are you?"

Kyle grumbled. He had of course heard the little laugh at the end of his roommate's sentence (what was his name again?). Kyle didn't care if that big oaf was laughing at him. Maybe Kyle insulted his neighbor before falling asleep, lying on the blue siding in the bathroom. He couldn't quite know in his half-sleep state. He also didn’t remember walking to his bed, but he still woke up there the next morning when the nurses banged on the door.


End file.
